The Hunt is On
by coreyjotunn
Summary: Meet Wulf, the son of everyones favorite Uruk-Hai and Shieldmaiden.
1. Chapter 1

**[[Following the first ending where she did come back to Ash, I decided to write a bit more involving them. Sorta. In a way. Rated M for language and future situations]]**

* * *

Blue eyes flickered in the tall grass, shifting back and forth over the moving forms. With a grin, the dark skin of the Uruk-Hai reached forward, taloned hands reaching, grasping...

"I've got you!"

The dark skinned youngling laughed as the claws found his sensitive spots, their tips blunted so as to not scratch or maul someone on accident. His mother, her yellow hair shining in the sun, laughed at them both from the ground. Gléowyn had laid the death of her mother to rest before the birth of her first child, and no longer dyed her hair in remembrance She didn't need it. The memories she wanted to cherish were kept in her heart. She had new reasons to live now, Ashbazg, Maedor, Gwyneth, and now Wulf. Watching her husband with her son, that was her reason to live. Ash had finally healed, and put on more muscle and strength. Soon after her return, she had felt the new life quickening within her. Ash finally stopped tickling their youngrdy boy, and they both fell into a breathless heap beside her. She smiled at them both.

Wulf was a wonderful little boy, but no one would ever call him a pure Child of Man. His ear were slightly pointed like his fathers, and his lower canines would always appear a bit longer than normal. His fingers sported dark nails, tougher than a Mans but not as sharp and pointed as an Uruks. He had inherited midnight black hair from somewhere, and his blue eyes were as vibrant as his fathers. His skin was like a dark tan, and he could pass for an Easterling if anything was ever said to him as he grew older. Gléowyn doubted any of the Elves in Rivendell would say anything to him, but just in case he ever went out into the world. She shook her head, coming from her reverie to listen to Ash and his newest speech to their 5 year old.

"Remember son. Your mother, she was the bravest woman I ever met. A sword swinger from Rohan. Only land to have women warriors like that. And me? Don't ever tell anyone who your father was, but he's from the fightin' Uruk-Hai, and adopted to the mountain clan orcs, the good 'uns who want nothing more than to live in peace and quiet with their families. No matter what anyone ever tells ya son, you come from strength, and you'll always have that strength with ya. You'll always have us."

With that, Ash reached his arm out and pulled his wife closer to him. Their little boy looked at them in wonder, the dark skinned Uruk-Hai and the light-skinned Rohirrim. They were his parents, and proof that anything could happen. Any man or orc could find someone, that love was the only thing that mattered.

* * *

With a start, Wulf jerked to wakefulness, his hands already pulling back his bowstring, arrow nocked. That dream... that dream only happened when something bad was about to happen to him. It was like his dead father telling him that something bad was coming, that he could smell it. Da had always had a better nose than Wulf, and Wulf had a damn good nose. He had somehow got the most... orcish of bits of their bloodline. Maedor looked like an Easterling that had an Elvish ancestor way back down his bloodline, and he talked like it to. Talked like he was an elf, dressed like one, ate like one. Never left Rivendell his whole life. Little Gwyn, she'd been lucky too. Looked like Ma, could shake her hair down over her ears, didn't have a tusk to speak of. Married some Ranger from around Rivendell. Probably had a couple kids by now. Didn't matter much to Wulf. He hadn't been home since Da died. Ma went first. Caught a sickness in her chest. Wasn't enough of the old magic, the old blood in the Elves left to heal it. When she went, Da sat by her grave. Didn't eat, didn't move. Wulf went to check on 'im, and he was gone. Like he was sleeping, curled up on Ma's grave with a smile on his face. Wulf had left the next day. He hadn't seen Mae or Gywn in almost six years.

Standing, he scoped the surrounding land with his senses. He wasn't hearing or smelling anything here. But there could be something coming, or danger could be down the road. Dreams were never an exact science. It just happened, and then something bad happened. It was like when he was sick the worst or hurt real bad, he'd dream about his Ma, and her holding him when he was sick and it always made him feel better. Didn't take away everything, but it made him feel warm inside. And someone who had made themselves as cold as he had, well, it helped.

He was everything his siblings wasn't. He had embraced the side of him that was Uruk-Hai. He didn't go around doing what they did course, but he didn't hide it either. He didn't pretend to be an Easterling like Mae would probably pretend, and his long hair didn't cover up his pointed ears. In fact, he shaved the sides of his head, letting the top and back grow in a long strip so his ears were shown. He was lean like a wolf, his body nothing but bones and muscle and skin. Covered in scars, some from fights, some from animal attacks, some from stupid shit. He was like the land here around the mountains. Hard and rugged. It's what he had pulled more from his mother than his father, the ability to survive, the thrill he felt hunting. His mother had taught him the bow and the woods, how to track and how to hunt. For all his skill, his Da relied more on his nose than anything to hunt. Ma had taught Wulf how to ghost through the woods, silent as a mist, how to track by print and scat and sign. It was how he survived. _Gods._ He missed them so much sometimes. It had been so hard to believe they had died.

His father had been such a huge pillar of muscle and bones, swinging his blacksmiths hammer everyday. His mother had been stronger than that, something inside her. His father was black iron on the outside, but his mother had been shining steel underneath her soft and motherly outside. In fact, she had been the harsher one growing up, always pushing them to do better, to do their lessons, to do what they wanted, but to do it the best. His father was content to sit on the banks of the river and fish, something he and Wulf had done numerous times, his mother joining them more often than not. His parents had been the rocks, the pillars, that kept their family together. Now, they were drifted apart. Shaking the memories from his head like old spider webs, he gathered his kit and started to pack everything. All he owned was his bow, his arrows, knives, his pack, and the clothing on his back. Hell, all his pack had in it was some food, some carvings he was wasting idle hours with, and some medicines just in case.

His head jerked to the side as he heard a snap, followed by a light gust of air. A silent curse? His bow wasn't at hand, but his knives were. And he could throw just as well as he could shoot. He cursed the rasp the first blade made as it cleared the leather, but the other didn't make a noise. Walking forward, he cast his eyes around the forest ahead of him, looking for a sign. Something. Anything. There. The edge of one of those shifting Elvish cloaks that made his nose wrinkle up and his head hurt.

"Come out Elf. Or Ranger. Don't matter. Gonna kill me, come on and do it!" Wulf growled out. He didn't have time for this. He had to cross the mountains, avoiding Rivendell all together, and get to his winter home. He did not have time for lollygaggin' or foolery. With a curse, the Man, and it was a Man, one of those damn Rangers, stepped out from behind the tree. He held his bow steady though. Wulf could respect that. But the Man better put one in his eye, or he'd get a hell of a knife in his.

"What do you want Ranger? I'm doin' no harm here. Ain't done a bit of harm in the six years I've been travelling through here."

The Ranger stared at him, brown eyes unflinching. He stepped half a step closer, and Wulf twitched his arm, like knocking away a fly. The knife flashed in the light, but Wulf still held it. It was a reminder, a way to show the Ranger that he wasn't defenseless.

"Are you the _half-orc_ Wulf?"

The man said it like a curse. Half-Orc. Might as well say dirty blood. Filth. Wulf gritted his teeth, holding back the rage he could feel growing inside him. His mothers words came to him, like dust floating down on a breeze. _He's trying to make you angry so he can feel justified with killing you. Don't give him the pleasure. _

_"_I am Wulf man. Son of Rohan and son of the Uruk-Hai, adopted son of the Mountain Clans. Why?"

With a grunt, the man released the pressure from his shoulders, letting the string down on his bow and lowering it.

"It's your sister. She's been kidnapped. I need... I need your help."

"And who are you?"

His eyes flashed and he stood to his full height. "I am her husband."

Wulf stared at him. "Fucking lovely."


	2. Shit

"Keep up, _Ranger_."

Puffing and panting, the man growled back. "My name is Berenor. Use mine, and I'll use yours, _Wulf_."

Laughing, the easily striding half-Orc turned and looked at the man behind him. The man leaned against a tree. He was used to going for hours a day, but the pace set by this half-man was punishing, even for a Ranger. They had been walking since early morning, and the trees were starting to thicken as they came closer to the Mountains. They had been traveling south, and Berenor was thoroughly turned around. He had accepted the orders of Faramir and traveled to work with the Rangers of the North, but he still did not know this area. They were close to Rohan. Maedor had told him that Wulf usually stayed there, tempting the Ents and other malevolent trees with his presence.

"What's so funny?"

Wulf grinned before he spoke. "Oh happy day for me. I not only have to deal with a Ranger, it has to be one named for Beren. Ever hear the tale of what happened when Beren and a wolf got together? He lost his hand, the wolf got a jewel."

Of course Berenor knew the story. His father had told it to him often, even telling him that he had been named after the hero, and that he should view the forces of the Enemy as the wolves of the world to hunt. His father would be shamed, if he still lived, at Berenor's choice in a wife. She was mostly of Mans blood, but that would do little to console the old man. She had Orcs blood, and that was worth spilling. He hated to think of what his father would have thought of what now grew in her belly. Likely want to dash it on the rocks or feed it to the hounds. Thinking of the new life growing, a part of him, he found his strength and stood straight.

"Are we going to stand here all day and talk, Wulf? Or can we find your sister before she is harmed."

Wulf shrugged, taking a drink from a waterskin as he turned and started walking again. They were cutting across the Southern edge of Fangorn forest, and then they would cross the Fords of Isen, tricky work there Wulf, long will they remember your kind in that area, and then they could cut North, swinging wide round the Gates of Moria, and could make it to Rivendell. Of course, any trail would be far cold by then.

"Why are we going to Rivendell first, Ranger?"

"To collect Maedor. He is coming with us to get her back."

"So you know where she is?"

"Aye. I will tell you tonight, when we stop for rest."

Wulf smirked. They weren't stopping for rest. But he could let that slide. The man would probably need to rest, and Wulf could at least refill his water skins while he did. The true puzzle here was Maedor. Why was he coming? There was no reason for that. His little princeling brother had never trained with bow or arrow, or even sword that Wulf had been aware of, didn't know how to track, didn't have a good nose, nothing. His brother was probably just coming along to be the good brother. To show the elves he was a brave and virtuous warrior, when it would be his dark brother who got all the fighting done. Wulf would do all the fighting and coming close to dying, and Maedor would have the songs made about him.

* * *

He had finally agreed to stop for the night. The Ranger was driving him crazy, and Wulf was just as night blind as a man. They sat in tense silence around a fire as Wulf cooked the last of his meat. He would have had more, but he had to cook for the other man as well. As much as he disliked the man already, his mother would have skinned him alive for not offering food to a guest. Even if the guest stank and was a Ranger. He didn't look like the Northern ones, they all had grey eyes. This one didn't. He knew there was Rangers down Southeast, over in Gondor way, and he was pretty sure there had been a trade off of men at one point after the King had went back. Maedor had always been better at the history lessons then him. He would rather be out in the woods instead of with the dusty old books and scrolls.

"So. Who has her?"

The Ranger looked at him, focusing for a moment. Wulf suddenly felt... bad for the Man. He could see it in his eyes. Pain, loss. The way his Da had looked after his Ma had passed, before he went too. Whatever the faults, the Man- Berenor- looked like he loved Wulf's sister. And that was something.

"Maedor said to tell you that it was the worm?" Berenor's statement ended in a question sound. Obviously, Maedor hadn't told him what the worm was. Wulf growled, his hands twisting a stick, before he snapped it in hald.

"Talûn-karkû. The white worm."

Berenor was lost, and Wulf grunted, reaching for his waterskin and taking a sip.

"She's from the past. A long time ago..."

* * *

_Wulf was on the run again. He hated the rigid cage that Rivendell put on him. Hated the way everyone expected him to be just like Maedor. All of the elves wanted another orcling that they could treat like one of their own. The fourteen year old Wulf had decided enough was enough, and now he was gone. Again. This time though, his parents wouldn't find him. He always ran towards Bree, and this time he had made it look like he was heading that way, only to circle around, skirting Rivendell and making his way towards the Mountain. He could cross there, and then the world would be his. He could go anywhere, no masters but the skies over his head, no home but the grass beneath his feet. _

_He stopped, crouching down as he took a drink of water from a stream. He hesitated, he heard... what was that? It sounded like a woman singing. But it was no elf. Elves wouldn't be singing a song about what happened when you... His cheeks burned as he blushed. That was the kind of song his father sang when he was drinking and Ma clouted him to get him to shut up. He prowled forward, making no more noise than the wind as he grew closer to the sound of singing. He peered through the branches at the creature sitting on a flat rock in the middle of the stream. It was a girl! And not an elf girl, or a human girl, but an Orc girl!_

_She was sitting on the rock, naked in the sunlight as she leaned back and dried off, water still glistening on her body. She wasn't dark, she was very light for an orcess. Almost as light as his older brother. He leaned forward, a branch under his feet snapping as he put more of his weight forward. A smile curled her lips, an iron tusk standing out. _

_"Grab 'im." _

_With a cry, more Orcs came from the underbrush, lying in wait. There was one behind him, Wulf rolling away and trying to scramble to his feet and run. A monster of a hobgoblin reached for him, but Wulf's dagger was in his hand and he laid the back of the hobgoblins hand open to the bone. With a fierce shout, the hobgoblin jerked his hand back, grabbing the curved sword at his belt. Wulf had been cornered at a tree, and had his back to it the best he could, his dagger in front of him, ready to fight. He was going to die here. If the Gods got him out of this one, he would do anything. He'd read his history lessons. Whatever it took. He would be so like Maedor that you wouldn't be able to tell them apart. Just please let him go home. _

_"Garn, woulja look at dat? Little whiteskin's cryin'! We ain't even had our fun yet!" _

_The hobgoblins black tongue flicked out, catching a drop of blood off the back of his hand as he reasserted his grip on the hilt of his scimitar. _

_"Dontcha worry yer lil' head Lug. I'll have my fun with this one. He's gunna pay for cuttin' my hand up like that."_

_The female voice spoke again, two of the Orcs moving out of the way as she walked through, now clad in a touch leather breastplate and leather kilt. _

_"You don't touch the merchandise, pushdug. You think they're going to pay good for 'im if he's cut up? They think slaves with scars are trouble makers, and if we find one of them buggering bastards, they'll not want a scarred one cause it ain't pretty." She grinned wickedly, the iron metal covering her tusk gleaming again. "Now, that's not to say you can't take a little vengeance." _

_The hobgoblin grinned, his eyes flickering to the other creatures that surrounded Wulf. _

_"Grab him boys!"_

_They rushed in, full grown strength that had been worked for over many years, in some cases hundreds, against the skinny arms and desperation of a half Uruk-Hai child. It didn't last long. The beating that the hobgoblin administered lasted far longer. _

_His hands were tied behind his back, his left eye swollen shut and his lip bleeding. The slobbering thing on his back grunted as it finished tying the rough ropes. _

_"Oi! When's the last time you lot seen a whiteskin with black claws?" _

_The assembled creatures gathered around, pointing out various oddities. His pointed ears. Long canines, almost like tusks. The claws. The female crouched in front of him, squinting her eyes as she looked at him. _

_"What are you boy? Huh? Some rape-spawn? Runt-orc that snaga cast out?"_

_Wulf remembered his fathers words. About being Uruk-Hai. Gathering the last of his strength, he spat in her face, the bloody phlegm and spit hitting her across the eyes. _

_"I am Uruk-Hai." _

_"Brave little shit." She stood wiping her face. "Well, my little orcling, I don't know what you are, but you aren't Uruk-Hai. We've got one of those back at the camp. For now, you're my property, until I sell you or kill you. Remember that. Remember that Talûn-karkû owns you now. Frumdag. Punish him." _

_The hobgoblin set to it once again, his hard fists pounding the young boy until they heard a rib crack and Talûn-karkû called it off. Wulf could feel his grip on reality fading. He had to fight, had to run..._

* * *

"What happened next?"

Wulf shook his head, snapped out of his rememberance of the past.

"Don't worry about it Berenor. I survived. I got away. But so did Talûn-karkû. And she prolly stole your wife to get back at me an Da. But we'll track her down, make her pay for that."

Berenor was burning with questions. How had Wulf escaped? What did their father have to do with a revenge kidnapping? But Wulf had already threw himself to the ground like an animal, his breath evening out and going deep as he forced himself into sleep. Berenor could only roll over and do the same, his thoughts on his wife and their as of yet unborn child.

Wulf wasn't sleeping, but let the Man think he was. Better that, instead of him reliving those torments in front of him. Even if he could remember it all as soon as he closed his eyes, like he never escaped.

* * *

_"WALK YOU LITTLE SLIME! WALK!"_

_Wulf growled and snapped his teeth at the jeering faces, but they kept their hands back. Frumdag had learned that the hard way, and Talûn-karkû had him beaten badly for tearing out the hobgoblins throat with his teeth. Didn't matter. There wouldn't be any more of Frumdag. No more veiled threats in the night, promises about what was going to happen to him. No more clawed hands touching him where they weren't supposed to. Now he just had to deal with Lug, who was a lot weaker and more cowardly than the hobgoblin had ever been. He could deal with that. He could deal with the lash as it bit him. The smell of burnt flesh where they had burnt an S into his shoulder. _

_S for Slave they had jeered as they burnt him. But now, now they were close. It had been a week since they had captured him, meeting up with other bands with slaves as well, all heading to the same place. Wormhole they called it. The home of __Talûn-karkû and her family. Orc slavers that were all named worm. They said it was a sign from a dream, that when their ancestor had taken worm as part of his name and became a slaver, his fortunes had risen like the sun. Now that was all the family did. Was catch people and sell them as slaves. And Wulf was one of them. He hung his head as he thought of his father and mother. Were they looking for him now? His clever little trick with circling, by the time they discovered that, they'd be too far out to find him again. _  


___"Oi! Half-breed. Welcome to Wormhole." _

___He could look down on it and see it. But worse than the sight of the black crags, the iron cages, the yawing pit, was the smell. Death and shit and piss and puke and blood. All mixed together, and striking over him like a wave. His stomach heaved and rolled, but they had given him no food. He had nothing to throw up and add to the stench of this place. A painful sensation ripped through the tip of his slightly pointed ear as ____Talûn-karkû pinched it between her talons, drawing blood. _

_______"Welcome to your new home, Cur." _


End file.
